


there's no logic (so please believe me)

by zarahjoyce



Series: no rhyme and no reason [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of past abuse, Post Series, The King Beyond the Wall, The Queen in The North, i tried you guys, smut what smut, speculations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: Sansa knows the reason he's come inside her chambers and she supposes she cannot postpone the inevitable any longer. They have agreed, earlier on, that he will stay for a fortnight, and thatevery nightthey will attempt to--Her cheeks burn at the thought.She is a Stark. She is Queen. She isstrong.Besides,thisis her idea. She cannot regret this now; she willnot.





	there's no logic (so please believe me)

Try as she may, Sansa cannot be rid of the nerves plaguing her the entire day.  
  
They accompany her, a persistent shadow on her back, as she listens to petitions and meets with the people and oversees the rebuilding of her home. She brushes the nerves aside, knowing that despite their presence she cannot falter, not yet, not  _ever_.  
  
She is a Stark. She is Queen. She is  _strong_.  
  
And yet as dawn turns to dusk, the tension on her shoulders weighs more and more on her, making her feel relatively... unwell.  
  
Perhaps, she thinks, she ought to postpone...  _it_.  
  
So deep she is in consideration of this idea that the soft knocks on her door jolt her up, making her grimace.  
  
Then again, perhaps  _not_.  
  
She takes a deep, steadying breath, squares her shoulders, and faces the door with her head held high. "Come in."  
  
Not a breath after she has spoken does her cousin enter her chambers, making her feel-- _overmuch_. "Your Grace," he says, by way of greeting.   
  
"I don't think I saw you around supper," she responds by way of acknowledgement, turning slightly away from him. Not that she has been purposely looking for him, but it  _is_  hard not to notice his absence once he's step foot in Winterfell after so long. She starts to remove her gloves and asks askance, "Where were you?"   
  
Jon crosses his arms behind his back. "I have been-- detained," he replies, looking a bit pained. "By some of the Northern lords."  
  
She smiles slightly at him. There have beensome unexpected guests who arrived in the castle late in the afternoon; Sansa has been prepared to receive them, of course, but it seems visiting  _her_ is not their primary purpose. "Word of your arrival in Winterfell travels fast, I'm afraid. Not that it's meant to be a secret in the first place." She pauses and asks, genuinely curious, "What were they asking you?"  
  
He frowns. "Details of my... banishment, for one."  
  
_Ah._  "And what did you tell them?"   
  
"That I have no plans of returning for long." He watches her carefully as he tells her this. "That my place is  _not_  here."  
  
Sansa looks away. Truth be told she has suspected just as much, but hearing him say these words out loud-- "Perhaps they are wondering why the King Beyond the Wall has come in the first place." She tries to infuse as much levity as she can in those words, and thinks she has succeeded - somewhat.  
  
_Why_ did  _you come, Jon?_  
  
_Why did you come here if you're not coming home?_  
  
"I told them the truth," he says. "I told them that I came for the Queen. For  _you_."  
  
She takes a deep breath. The tension in her shoulders crawls down her chest; she's suddenly mindful of the fact that her heart is racing - annoyingly enough. "I hope you've made it clear to them that I didn't  _actually_ invite you."  
  
_If you don't want to come home then let it be known that I didn't beg you to._  
  
_Let it be known that I respected your decision despite everything._  
  
He chuckles. "I'll be sure to inform them when they ask."  
  
"Good."  
  
That conversation soon dies down; Sansa knows the reason he's come inside her chambers and she supposes she cannot postpone the inevitable any longer. They have agreed, earlier on, that he will stay for a fortnight, and that  _every night_  they will attempt to--  
  
Her cheeks burn at the thought.  
  
She is a Stark. She is Queen. She is  _strong_.  
  
Besides, this  _is_ her idea. She cannot regret this now; she will  _not_.  
  
She steels herself. "Well, then. How do you propose we go about our... arrangement?"  
  
Jon blinks at her; for a horrible moment she thinks he's waiting for her to elaborate on her words until he replies, "It depends on what you have in mind."  
  
Bristling, she admits, "I don't exactly have the  _best_ experience along this line. That's why I'm asking you. I don't have  _anything_ in mind at the moment, Jon."  
  
That is wrong; however. She's already anticipating the pain this encounter will surely bring upon her person. Anticipating it, and  _dreading_ it. Already she can feel her skin crawling at the thought.  
  
But Jon isn't Ramsay; he is Jon and he is gentle and good and he  _loves_ her.  
  
As a brother would his  _sister_.  
  
And yet--  
  
_The lords you have in mind may not honor you in ways you deserve. But I will; you have my word._  
  
These are words one does not say to his  _sister_ , and yet--  
  
_And yet._  
  
She believes him.  
  
Perhaps  _this_ is what compels her to step closer to him to say, "Jon. This is-- what we're about to do, I'm not  _forcing_ you to do this. If you wish to-- I will understand it if you leave and--"  
  
He cups her face with one hand. " _Sansa_ ," Jon whispers, staring into her eyes and brushing a thumb along her cheek, "I would  _not_ have promised you anything if I have no intention of doing it. You are not forcing me to do anything. I  _offered_." After a moment's hesitation, he takes her hand and places it over his chest. "We  _agreed_."  
  
For a little while she's not aware of anything but his touch, his warmth. His nearness is making her feel  _lightheaded_ , as though she's drunk cups of the finest Dornish wine. Sansa stares at her hand - the one on his chest - and imagines she can feel his heart racing, just as hers is.  
  
And yet--  
  
Any moment now,  _it_  will commence. He will take her and it will be painful and  _meaningless_ , and perhaps that's the saddest thing of all.  
  
_For the good of the North_ , she thinks, and _hates_ it.   
  
"Will it be all right," she asks quietly, "if I keep my shift on?"  
  
_I don't want you to see. Please don't see._  
  
_I don't want you to see how ruined I am._  
  
And even before he can ask about it she hurries on, "I-I'm-- it might be easier for me if I'm not--"  
  
His hand ghosts along the side of her neck, and his eyes are wildly dark as he replies, "Do what you must to make this more comfortable for you."  
  
"Thank you," she whispers, and turns, however slowly.  
  
_Please, Jon,_ she thinks, as he slowly undresses her until she's clad only in her shift. He's breathing heavily and so is she, and it should have been so terribly awkward if he isn't so gentle and careful and _warm_ and--  
  
_Please, Jon,_  she thinks, as he lays her down on her furs, with his body pressing hers down and it's not at all  _uncomfortable_ ; perhaps it can even be described as a bit--  _oh--_  
  
_Please,_  she thinks, and it's not at all painful; soon she forgets herself as she soars and he's gasping her name on her thigh and she's dragging him up and curling her leg on his hip and he's sucking at her neck and she's mouthing Jon, Jon, Jon,  _Jon--_  
  
He isn't Ramsay; he is Jon and he is gentle and good and he  _loves_ her.  
  
And she'll bear the whispers of his love on her skin and inside her until it bears fruit.

Until - and even after - the fortnight ends.

_As Queen, I can._

She wraps her arms around him, breathes him in. Wishes, with everything in her, that she can make him stay.

_Therefore, I will._


End file.
